


And Isn't It Ironic? (No, Not Really)

by lazyshit



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Race doesn't know much about Harry Potter, Tutoring, and spot is hardcore judging him...on the inside, don't trust them, little sisters are unpredictable, probably, spot is a literature snob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyshit/pseuds/lazyshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spot tutors Race's younger sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Isn't It Ironic? (No, Not Really)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night around midnight, so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> I still haven't decided if I should continue this story at all (like either as a series or with more chapters) or just leave it as a standalone oneshot, so let me know what you think!

“Mickey!” Race called, glancing at the clock. “It's almost 3:30. Your tutor should be here in a few minutes!”

“Okay!” He could hear his younger sister shuffling around in her bedroom, and a moment later she trudged into the kitchen, backpack in tow.

“I don't want a tutor,” Mickey groaned. She dragged her backpack over to the kitchen table and hoisted it onto one of the chairs. “This is gonna be so long and boring.”

As she plopped down into the next seat, Race placed a small plate of crackers spread with cream cheese in front of her. With a mumbled “thanks,” she grabbed a cracker and took a bite.

“Who knows, maybe it won't be,” Race said with a shrug, taking the seat next to her. “Maybe the tutor will make it more fun.”

Mickey made a face. “It's lit,” she said while chewing.

“Hella,” Race added, just because he had to.  

She shot him a withering glare, and Race held up his hands in mock surrender. “It's _literature_ class,” she amended. “I don't think it _can_ be fun.”

“You liked your lit class last year,” he pointed out. At least he was pretty sure she did. He vaguely recalled Mickey frequently regaling the rest of the family last year with raves about the novels her class was reading. Or maybe it was the film adaptations they watched that were based on the books.

She swallowed before responding. “It was _easier_ last year.”

 _Ohhh, that's what it was._ Race grinned. “Just wait until high school, Mick. It gets even harder.”

“Ew no.” She reached for another cracker. “I just wanna get through eighth grade first.”

Smart kid.

There was a knock at the door. “That's probably him,” Race said, standing up to go let the tutor inside the apartment.

He opened the door and found himself facing a guy around his own age with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Who also happened to be quite attractive.

Race pushed that thought away. He smiled brightly and stepped aside to let the guy in. “Hey, you must be the tutor!”

“Yeah, that's me. I'm Sean, but you can call me Spot.” The guy squinted at Race who was closing the door. “You're... _not_ Mickey.”

Race shook his head and chuckled. “Definitely not Mickey,” he confirmed. “I'm her older brother, Race - well, Tony, if we're being technical.” He offered his hand in greeting which Spot took. “Mickey’s in the kitchen.”

Race led Spot to the table where Mickey appeared to have started taking out her literature class materials. She glanced up when the two approached her.

“Mickey, this is your tutor, Spot - uh, or would you rather she call you Sean?” Race shot Spot a questioning look.

Spot waved a hand dismissively. “I mean I'm good with either one, but Spot’s fine,” he said.

“Right, Spot then,” Race continued. “Spot, this is Michelina.”

Mickey gave a tiny wave. “Hi,” she greeted him, “Mickey for short.”

Spot smiled and took the seat beside her. “Hi, Mickey. How are you?”

While Spot and Mickey were talking, Race wandered into the kitchen and, because he was feeling mildly generous today, poured two glasses of water for them.

He returned with the water just as Spot was telling Mickey, “And hopefully eventually it'll be...well, not as bad to you.” Spot glanced at the water that was being set down in front of him. “Oh, thanks. So, what d’you think? You ready to get started?” he asked, addressing Mickey again.

She shrugged. “I guess so. Better sooner than later.”

Race took the opportunity to cut in. “I'll be in my room if you need anything, Mickey, okay?” She nodded, and he turned to leave. “Alright. Good luck then,” he shouted behind him.

“Thanks?” Mickey said.

“Actually I was talking to Spot.” Race turned to look over his shoulder just in time to see Mickey stick her tongue out at him.

“Haha, very funny. Now go away,” she called after him. He laughed and disappeared into his bedroom to start on his own homework.

 

* * *

 

It was nearly an hour and a half later when Race heard the sounds of paper being put back into binders and books being closed. He wandered back out to see that Spot had risen from his seat and was in the process of shoving his belongings into his backpack.

When Spot noticed Race, he stood up straight. “I was just telling Michelina that we’ll have to figure out the dates for the next sessions later. What's the best way to contact you guys?”

“Oh, um…” Race considered this. “I guess I can give you our mother’s email or cell phone number if that would work,” Race suggested.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mickey shake her head. “Mamma’s always busy. Race could give you his number,” she offered with a tone of finality.

“That'd be great.” Spot grinned and handed over his phone. While Race added his number, Mickey proceeded to tell him about the tutoring session.

“Spot’s a really good tutor, Race! He's way better at teaching than Mrs. Miller is,” she practically gushed. “I actually kinda liked it. At one point we were talking about the types of irony and examples from a bunch of different stories and stuff. And we listened to a song called ‘Ironic’ - who's it by again? - hmm, I don't remember now. But anyway it-”

“Wait, the  Alanis one? The one that's about irony but not really?” Race interrupted, returning the phone back to Spot.

Spot raised an eyebrow. “I'm impressed. Seems like hardly any of the kids in my class know that one.”

“We had to do this whole analysis and editing thing for the lyrics back in sophomore year. Or was it freshman year?” Race bit his lip. “I don't know. It all runs together, you know? But anyway yeah, I know the song.”

“So what are you then? A junior?” Spot asked.

Race rolled his eyes. “I'm offended that you just asked if I was a junior. Really, my pride is wounded.”

Spot disregarded the sarcasm of Race’s comment. “So a senior. Like me.” Spot slung his backpack over his right shoulder.

“Ding, ding, ding! Ten points to Gryffindor or whatever,” Race cheered in mock celebration.

“Huh, I didn't take you for the _Harry Potter_ type,” Spot remarked.

“He's not,” Mickey chimed in. “He's only ever watched the first movie.”

Spot smirked. “Gotta step up your game, Race.”

“Fuck off.”

Mickey’s eyes widened. “Race!” she scolded.

“Like you haven't said worse, Michelina.” Race crossed his arms with a grin.

“Yeah, but,” she glanced at Spot and continued in a stage whisper,” we have company.”

Race laughed. “Like _he_ hasn't said worse.”

“You don't know that,” Spot mused.

Race gave him a knowing look. “Have you?”

“I'm not answering that.”

Race leaned over and whispered loudly to Mickey, “He totally has.”

Spot shoved Race. “Hey, fuck off.”

Race laughed. Spot shook his head slightly and attempted, and almost succeeded, to look annoyed as he checked the time on his phone.

“Alright I should probably head out.” Spot began making his way toward the door. “Nice work today, Mickey. I'll text your brother the days I'm available for more sessions.”

Mickey nodded. “Okay, see you next time.”

Spot opened the door, stepped out, and waved goodbye before letting the door shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone Mickey stood up and turned to Race. “He's cute. I like him.”

Race raised an eyebrow. “He's four years older than you.”

“Oh no, not for me. For you.”

Race blinked. She smiled sweetly at him and practically skipped out of the kitchen before Race could think of a good response to that. Just as Mickey disappeared into her room, he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. It was a message from an unknown number. He opened it up.

_–Only the first movie??_

Race grinned.


End file.
